


Blood-stained symphony

by Disaster_Fire



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A little spice of violence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Blood, Dead Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mentioned Cara | CaptainPuffy, Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mentioned Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Fluff, Parent Cara | CaptainPuffy, Parent Sam | Awesamdude, Phil gets yelled at by both Wilbur and Sam, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Wilbur’s only alive for like a week lol, awesamdad, mama puffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disaster_Fire/pseuds/Disaster_Fire
Summary: Tommy was Wilbur’s unfinished symphony. Now? That symphony is nothing more than crumpling dust in a cell, never to be finished. Reuniting with his brother and an ex-tyrant seemed to be more comforting than he’d originally thought.If only others let it stay that way.Phil’s family has been broken long before the wars had even happened, the fighting just added to it. Nothing could be done to help and soon he’ll realize that.(Please read, I’m sorry if the summary sounds bad, it’s not. I swear.)
Relationships: Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Phil Watson & Technoblade - Relationship, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbut Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 12
Kudos: 347





	Blood-stained symphony

The first thing Tommy saw when he opened his eyes was grey. He was laying down in a field, like he used to do when he was still innocent of all the harsh ways of the world. It was like everything was washed out, color that seemed to have bled out long before he arrived. It was quiet, an almost deathly silence as he sat up. Tommy looked down at himself, at his almost translucent grey hands, his no longer vibrant red t-shirt, his bruised arms, legs,  _ neck-- _

“Tommy?”

Wilbur. Tommy’s dulled eyes almost couldn’t believe what they saw. His brother. His dead brother clad in his yellow sweater, reminiscent of the one adorned by Ghostbur, and the ever present red beanie. Wilbur looked exactly how Tommy preferred to remember him; sane. 

Tommy didn’t even notice himself move, but before he knew it, he was sprinting straight towards his brother. Tommy stumbled a few times in his haste to throw himself at the brunette, smile on his face and eyes slightly glossy. The older man allowed himself to be tackled into a hug and held his brother back just as fiercely, arms coming up to protectively hold him.

“T-Tommy? Oh god, don’t tell me you bit the dust already, you child. How--?” Wilbur sputtered, tears freely dripping down his face, but he wasn’t sure whether they were from joy or grief. Joy of being reunited with his younger brother or grief of realizing that his brother-- _ a child who wasn’t even of age yet-- _ had died. 

This wasn’t what he meant when he said to see the younger boy soon. This wasn’t what he meant at all. How did Tommy die? How did no one stop it from happening? Questions upon questions filled his grieving thoughts, arms holding the trembling boy just a little bit tighter. And wasn’t that a kick in the gut?  _ Boy. _ He was just a boy, not even a man yet and now he’d never get to be. Wilbur had already accepted that he’d never be able to see Tommy grow into the man he knew the loud child could be and now? Nothing more than a crumbling dream of an unfinished symphony. 

He could feel the wetness on his wool sweater growing, as the sobs coming from Tommy started to rise in volume. When was the last time he cried? When either of them cried? Wilbur didn’t have an answer. Was it during the first war? No, he remembered both of them feeling stressed and slightly fearful, but not once could he recall a tear being shed. Pogtopia? No, Wilbur had been losing himself and Tommy. . . . Tommy was too young and yet, no tears had been shed then either. 

Wilbur ran his fingers through matted blonde hair, crusted strands stained red, no longer the sweet sunny blonde that he remembered it to be. He hummed as he did so, gently manuvering Tommy to sit down in the ash stained field with him. Wilbur could feel both of their tears slowing, not stopping completely though; he’d doubt that they’d stop anytime soon. The brunette could feel the desperate grip of pale, bruised hands holding tight on the back of his sweater. Bruised. So very bruised, bloodied, and hurt his Tommy is, nothing at all like the memory of a vibrant ray of energy from before. 

Wilbur hummed once more, “Tommy? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” His only answer was another sob from the broken little soldier. Wilbur shushed him gently. “Wilby--” Tommy’s breath hitched, chest heaving, and bruised face covered in tears. Tears that he held back for so long. 

“What’s wrong, Tommy?”

Tommy moved his head back, just enough to look Wilbur in the eye. Kind and patient, that’s how Wilbur was before everything had gone to hell.  _ Sane. _ There was ash--no, embers, embers of a once great nation now turned to nothing in his hair.

“I died.  _ I died, Wil!” _ Tommy’s words sent a stab at his once beating heart. His brother sounded heartbroken. Tommy’s words sounded in a tone that Wilbur has heard too many times before. Wilbur continued humming, waiting patiently for his brother to continue, tears still streaming down his face as he held the boy. Tommy was thankful for the comforting sound.

“He didn’t stop! He wouldn’t stop hurting me! Why did he keep hurting me?!” All he wanted was to get closure to move on from the pain inflicted on him by the green bastard and what he got in the end was pain. What did he do wrong? What does he always do wrong? He doesn’t know. Wilbur’s heart ached, a child should never have to ask why someone was hurting them as if it was their fault. Because it wasn’t Tommy’s fault. It was never Tommy’s fault.

Wilbur sighed, stopping the soft humming. “I don’t know, Tommy. Dream’s a sick fucker, okay? But, none of what he did to you was right.  _ None  _ of what you were forced to endure is deserved.”

Tommy nodded, but unconvinced, and something must’ve shown on his face because Wilbur sighed again. Though the older man didn’t call him out on it, only hummed again. The two brothers sat in the field, finding comfort in the each other’s presence after so long apart. He had missed his brother. Tommy soon heard the quiet, yet oh so loud sound of grass being crushed coming towards them. He looked at his brother questioningly, no matter how much trauma Wilbur might’ve caused him--he’d always look towards his brother first. 

The older man sighed, a small smile on his face. “We’re not the only ones who died, Tommy.” 

Tommy could feel his brain working itself into a frenzy as he tried to think of who else died permanently on the server. A faint smell hit him just as he pieced it together.  _ Alcohol. _

“Damn straight you weren’t! Now, why’s the kid here? Could’ve sworn the little fucker was going to live longer.”

Schlatt. The tyrant. The man who made an enemy of nearly everyone on the server. Tommy had almost forgotten that the man died, it almost seemed so long ago when it happened. 

The man still looked as hungover as ever, but no longer was he wearing a suit. What was once a preen and sleek black suit and tie, was now replaced with a blue sweater and jeans. His horns looked healthy, like all of his drinking hadn’t damaged it, nothing like when Schlatt was alive. Man still had that goofy looking facial hair though. Tommy mused, guess not even death could take that away.

“I lived longer than both of you bitches! And at least I didn’t die from something as stupid as a heart attack!” Tommy smirked biting back. Wilbur laughed aloud at the pissed off look on his friend’s face, god has he missed his little shit of a brother. Schlatt just huffed and rolled his eyes, before taking a seat next to the brothers. 

It was just the three of them now. Here for the rest of their afterlife in a plane of grey and peace, nothing lively and nothing dead but them. Grey.  _ Ash grey _ to be exact. Tommy snorted, tears no longer falling, as he realizes the color that had paint L’manberg was now the only to exist here. All that was left was an alcoholic ex-tyrant, an unhinged founder, and a broken soldier. The broken soldier had ran out of tears and it seems the unhinged founder had as well. Funny, who knew death had such a morrbid sense of humor. 

The silence seemed to stretch on for a while before Schlatt coughed into his hand to clear his throat. The man looked mildly serious, which was a bit weird to Tommy, but who’s he to say. Schlatt was always more of a businessman than a politician anyway. Businessmen knew how to keep their cards to their chest, which probably explains the reason why Tommy never saw his teamup with Quackity coming.

Schlatt’s slightly uneasy voice betrayed whatever stoic face he hid behind. “So, kid. . . . How did you end up kicking the bucket like me and Wilbur here?”

That single question choked whatever humming from Wilbur’s throat. His shaking fingers continued to thread their way through Tommy’s hair, slower than before. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have to acknowledge the fact that his brother had not gone as peacefully or quick as he or Schlatt. That his brother had died looking as broken as he does in Wilbur’s arms. He could feel Tommy tense up and quickly tried to rub his back reassuringly with a separate hand. Whatever had brought Tommy here, Wilbur just prays to god that it won’t touch him in here now. Schlatt watched, the only thing giving away his concern was the slight furrow in his brows wrinkling his forehead. This wasn’t the same boy that Schlatt remembered. Tommy looked as though he had been beaten down by the world itself. And, unknowingly, he wasn’t too far off the mark of what actually occurred. 

“I-I--” Tommy stammared, struggling to find the words to explain. Tripping on his words more as he feels the gaze of both men waiting for him to finish.

Wilbur rubbed his back a little more. “It’s okay, take your time. Hell, we have all of the time in the fucking world now, Tommy.”

Schlatt snorted in bitter amusement. “Fuck yeah we do! It’s fucking boring up here, Wilbur!”

The two older men bickered back and forth, but still kept a concerned look on their face as they distracted Tommy just a bit longer. It reminded the men of when they were friends, or they still consider each other friends at least. It’s boring not talking to anyone in this waiting space, might as well forgive then spend eternity alone. Tommy took a deep breath in. It just now occurred to him that he’s dead. Dream of all people killed him. Tommy grumbled a little in his mind, he knew he should’ve killed that green bastard when he had the chance.

“Dream killed me.”

Plain and simple, almost as if the kid was talking about the weather. So casually said by a kid who hadn’t even learned to drink yet, Schlatt thought with a numb realization. He fought a kid and the kid ended up dying, maybe it was after his death, but he had still chosen to fight a kid of all things. The goat hybrid glimpsed at Wilbur’s face and saw nothing. 

Blank. Wilbur doesn’t know what to feel. The man who started it all, started all these wars had been the sick motherfucker to kill his brother. It was almost like everything had been a joke. Like everything his brother had to suffer through had been a fucking joke! He internally screamed and cursed at whatever higher being there might be that decided that his brother had to suffer.

Anger. Rage. That was what he felt. Wilbur took a few calming breaths, the reassuring motions for Tommy now seeming to be for both of them right now. He could hear Schlatt shuffle closer, a shoulder bumping into his to silently announce his presence. 

Tommy continued on, knowing that if he doesn’t say it now, he won’t be able to ever. 

“Yeah. Bastard beat me to death in the prison. And no, Wilbur. I didn’t do shit to get myself in there.”

He doesn’t want to hear anymore. He doesn’t want to hear the story behind these bruises on Tommy’s neck and face. The ones now forever showing on his body, never fading, forever reminding the three on how he died. Wilbur gave a shaky smile, “Oh yeah? Then why were you in there then?” 

Tommy scoffed and rolled his suspiciously teary eyes, “Yeah, turned out to be a fucking security breach or some shit. Ended up with me staying with the bitch for a bit. Thought I’d live to get out, but guess not, huh, Big Man?”

Tommy didn’t tell them how much it hurt. How much he wanted the pain to stop and for the fists to stop raining blow after blow down on him. He didn’t want to say that he cried for forgiveness as he suffered, until he realized he wouldn’t get any. He didn’t say how cold the obsidian was and that the lava did little to warm him. Or how hard the material was as his head was slammed against it without his consent. It felt like he was going to suffocate in there. He didn’t say how he’d beg and pleaded with Sam--Dad--to get him out and couldn’t in time. He didn’t describe the feeling of breathlessness he felt as oxygen was ripped away from him by the man pinning him down, to wrap cold, unforgiving fingers around his throat as he suffocated. He wanted to see his dad one more time. He wanted to see Tubbo one more time. He had wanted to apologize before he left. He didn’t get to do any of those things. 

Tommy didn’t mention any of it. 

He didn’t want to. 

Schlatt tried to swallow his dry throat from what he just learned, suddenly it seemed as if the world had gotten just a bit darker than he recalled. The kid was beaten to death. A kid, that’s all he was. A fucking kid. Tommy had lost his life to a manipulative piece of shit all because of an accident out of his control. The world seemed just a bit shittier. 

“Kid, that’s fucked up. . . .”

And really? What else could Schlatt respond to that? What could he possibly say to even make a single speck of Tommy’s shitty circumstances seem okay? ‘Sorry, but hey! At least you don’t have to worry about that fucker anymore?’ Yeah no. Definitely not. 

Tommy just laughed at Schlatt’s reply because really, it was fucked up. Even he could admit that without feeling like he was going to fall apart. 

The two look at Wilbur, who they realized hasn’t uttered a single word. Tommy frowned, he’s never seen his brother struggle to find the words before. Schlatt knew that whatever sadness and remorse he felt would never be able to measure up to the utter rage his friend must be feeling right now. All Wilbur could do was hug Tommy closer to him, curling around his brother’s body--almost like he was trying to shield him from the world like when the two were younger--as he leaned them both against Schlatt. Wilbur’s shoulders were shaking, the only indication that the man was weeping. Not a sound left his lips and nothing was said. Wilbur wished he could’ve protected Tommy better. He wished that more people would care for the boy in his arms. If Wilbur felt a returning wetness against his shoulder, than he didn’t mention it. Tommy didn’t say anything and neither would Schlatt. 

“It’s alright, Wilbur. It wasn’t yours or Schlatt’s fault.”

“It isn’t your fault either, Tommy.”

They all knew who’s fault it was. The fucker’s name doesn’t deserve to be said.

Silence reigned over the grey landscape again. This time, it was bit more comforting now that Tommy knew he wasn’t alone. It made the afterlife just a tiny bit more bearable to the soldier boy coming home.  
  


* * *

Techno sighed, as he watched from his seat as Phil paced around the room again, blue eyes not once looking up from the book. They’ve tried the ritual already, clearly it doesn’t work, so why are they trying again? He voiced as such aloud.

“Oh come on, mate, maybe give it one last shot. Who knows? We might succeed this time, Techno.”

The pigman hybrid merely looked away and grumbled at his friend’s optimistic words, as he tried to get the voices under control again. Today, they seemed to be suspiciously happy and downtrodden for some reason. None of what he’s managed to hear from them makes sense to him. He gave a tired sigh, besides he was only doing this because Phil wanted to and it was the man’s birthday. How could he deny his friend a request?

“Fine, but this better be the last time, Phil. I’m tired of wasting totems.” Techno replied, giving in.

Phil just kept on repeating the ciphers in the book, memorizing each and every single letter, as he recites them with precision and accuracy each time. Phil tried hard not to let his hopes get the best of him, it had the other times they tried, but maybe just maybe, this might work. They have the book in hand, everything that they could possibly need to make it go as smoothly as possible, and no one to oppose them. Though, he frowned, he was hoping that Ranboo would help, but the kid seemed to be shaken by something enough to refuse. It’s a bit disappointing to think that no one was going to participate in the ritual. 

A flare of indignation fueled him, clearly he and Techno were right to have blown up the nation that took his son from him. Not one of his citizens seemed to care about his potential return. Oh well, he mused, it would probably be better if it was just him and Techno present anyway. No need to involve people in family matters. 

Tommy betrayed them, he doesn’t deserve to be invited. Techno had given Tommy a roof over his head and hidden him, and Tommy still chose to go back to Tubbo. Tommy needed to be taught a lesson, Phil thought with unjust righteousness. L’manberg deserved it’s destruction. Besides, now the boy won’t be able to ruin the ritual.

If only the two of them knew. If only they saw past their ignorance and paid just a smidge more attention to Ranboo, they would’ve noticed his shaking lanky figure. The slightly burned tear marks on his face. The utter denial and disbelief that had been on his face when they had approached him with their invite. But, they didn’t. 

They didn’t see his anger either, anger for someone else’s behalf, as he left. 

Ranboo knew that Tubbo needed him more right now, he had left the desolate boy with Puffy, who had also been stricken with grief. Some were guilt-ridden in grief, and some joyously celebrated as if it were a national holiday. More tears streamed down his face, burning into his skin as they fell in his bitterness. Briefly he wondered if they even knew. A grieving and angered part of him hoped that they didn’t. They didn’t deserve to know what they’ve never asked. The enderman hybrid sped up his pace, he had to get home to Tubbo. Wind and ice blowing past him as he went. 

He hoped their ritual failed like it did before.

* * *

Wilbur doesn’t know what is happening.

He was just teasing Tommy about his unchanging height, while Schlatt laughed and they were all having fun. Wilbur had just been lying down, picking at his sweater, annoyed at the tear that was never going to be repaired. Tommy had been right next to him. Tommy had been right there beside him, messing around with strands of grass, laughing freely like he should’ve always been. Hell! Even Schlatt was beside him, ruffling Tommy’s hair. They were in peace. Nothing bad could happen here.

So, why? Why? Why? _ Why? ---Why?---Why?  _ **_W H Y ?_ **

_ Why can he no longer hear his brother’s frantic voice as he fades? _

_ Why can’t he hold onto his friend as he’s suddenly taken away? _

_ Why was he in this hell again?  _

_ Why can he feel his chest beating again? _

_ Why can he suddenly remember the prominent smell of gunpowder so clearly from before? _

**_Why was he alive again?_ **

Thoughts and questions swirling in his fractured mind, hands shakingly held up--no longer transparent nor stained blue, but stained grey, _ gunpowder _ \--his blood pounding in his ears, a sound he thought he’d have the pleasure to never experience again. Chest heaving heavily with each quickened breath passing through his quivering lips. No. No. N _ o. NO. NO. _ **_N O._ **

Wilbur doesn’t want this. Wilbur didn’t want to be alive, fully knowing what this server has done to his little brother. He doesn’t want to be alive if it means being apart from his brother again! 

_ He didn’t want to be alive if it meant Tommy were dead. _

So the question is:  **_why_ ** is he back? 

So focused-- _ panicked _ \--in his mind that Wilbur had yet to notice the two familiar men standing behind him. Phil laughed in disbelief, Techno joining him. Neither could believe that the ritual finally worked! They were both fully prepared to leave the whole thing behind if it didn’t work today, but it had. Under all circumstances, the resurrection had succeeded. If they had bothered to pay attention, they would’ve realized that Wilbur’s actions weren’t from him checking to see if he was real. It wasn’t from happiness of being brought back to this hell on Earth. 

“Holy shit, Wil! I can’t believe it worked!” Phil laughed, as he jumped down into the crater to greet Wilbur. Techno choosing to trident down instead. Gliding down using his wings, arms spread out as if expecting a hug from him, the brunette thought with disgust. Immediately before Phil could even take a step near him, Wilbur straightened up and put his hand in front of him to keep his space. Phil, too overwhelmed with joy to have Wilbur back, merely thought he needed space to get used to being alive again. Which is fine! Phil and Techno would be right there with him.

Wilbur coughed, his voice hoarse and dry, “Why am I alive? Where is everyone?” 

He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from them. He wanted to hear the twisted truth come out of their mouth thinking that he’d easily believe it as his ghost counterpart had. Or maybe they’d hope he’d forget it. That poor fucker, may his soul rest from their lies. 

Techno spoke, this time with hesitance. He guessed his face had showed his true intent, Wilbur thought with an amused smile. Oh well, might as well make it a little fun. Like a cat messing around with a caught and beaten mouse.

“The ritual worked. Don’t know where everybody else went, guess they weren’t good friends afterall.” 

Wilbur hummed, walking a few steps closer to the two. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where Tommy is than? Been wanting to catch up.” 

He knew that they had no idea what had happened and he fully intended to use that piece of information to strike even harsher. They hadn’t even bothered to check their fucking communicators. Didn’t even see the message of his younger brother’s death. And they have the fucking balls to bring him back to life?! For their own fucking messed up ways to repent to him?! Well, then Philza Minecraft can take his pity regret and shove it up his ass because Wilbur is not about to help with his bullshit. 

Wilbur silently fumed, as Phil and Techno started going on about how his Tommy was a traitor to them and that he was better off not seeing him. How they laughed, mocking his Tommy for being stuck in a situation that he had no control over. How they say, so assured in their own egos, that his Tommy was a liar and nothing else. They say that his Tommy, his little brother, his little symphony was selfish.

_ “Trust me, Wil. It’s better if you don’t see Tommy. He  _ **_betrayed_ ** _ us.” _

_ “Besides, Theseus is  _ **_stuck_ ** _ in prison anyway. Can’t even visit him if you tried. Reminds me of the labyrinth, heh.” _

_ “Yeah, kid only knew how to _ **_lie_ ** _ , Wil! He wasn’t even really good at it!” _

_ “I sheltered him and he just stole my shit.  _ **_Selfish_ ** _ loser, look where he is now. Jail.” _

_ “Sheesh, that was harsh, Techno!” _

Wilbur felt something wet drip down his face. He reached a hand up, eyes never leaving the two in front of him, both too preoccupied with slandering a dead child to notice. Huh. Wilbur wonders vaguely when he started crying. More tears started to fall as he heard every single little lie that passes from their ignorant distasteful tongue. Wilbur laughs and laughs and laughs like the sky’s fallen. They truly don’t know a single thing. How pitiful. 

He didn’t care how unhinged he sounded as he laughed with tears on his face. Because the only thing that mattered was getting back to Tommy. Not once did Wilbur’s eyes strayed from Phil’s mocking face. 

Wilbur’s already deteriorated mental state from the ritual has caused him to snap more than it could ever be back in the cold ravine of Pogtopia. 

Phil turned back to Wilbur, face grinning, mouth opened to say something; he stops. Phil’s smile slowly drops as he stares at the unhinged shaking figure of the once ghost. Hesitantly he calls out, unaware that whatever comes out would be the trigger like the button, “Wil? You okay there? You seem to be crying and--”

He didn’t get further than that before Wilbur lunged at him.

Wilbur isn’t fully aware if it’s him raising his fists against the older man anymore. His arm pulling back to force it’s way forward again with it’s intent to inflict nothing but repentance. It feels like everything was fading away--red. It’s covering his knuckles now. His red covered fists as they continue to raise and pull back his arm, before slamming back down into the older man’s face again and again and again. Wilbur feels as though cotton has been shoved into his ears, his head is spiraling with nothing but the need to make the man tackled under him feel even an ounce of regret. Regret for the innocent blood shed from his brother. Regret for even attempting to lie to him about the boy that he knows nothing about. 

Does he feel it? 

Does he feel remorse through the pain and the blood covering his face?

No, Wilbur decides. It’s not enough in his eyes to repent to his broken little symphony. 

Wilbur promised so long ago to never allow that child alone and yet, he broke it not once but twice. He might’ve chosen to leave the first time in that small cement room covered in insanity, but he had not wanted there to be a second time. They took him away from Tommy and for that; the ash grey that covers the bottom of the hole of a broken dream shall be dyed red, whether by him or another. Wilbur swore it on this life that was never meant to have been given back to this dirty sinner of a man.

All he can hear is the faint plea of the man begging him to stop, to explain what he had done wrong. Behind him, he hears through the cotton the sound of a sword sliding out of it’s sheath, a monotone voice practically dripping in the anxious feeling of dread threaten him to stop. But, no, he won’t stop. Not now. Not when all he can hear is the blood pumping through his veins, blood that was never supposed to drip red every again. He feels his heart pounds in his chest, one that he now wishes to stop like before. Red coursing through his veins and pumping a dead heart. Red covering his vision and coating his knuckles as they hit harder than before, red being spat onto his clothing and face. Red coating the once dirty ground with it’s harsh contrasting color. The dynamite that made this nation a hole was red both times as well, and now its resting burial is red. 

Red on that feeble, vulnerable neck of Phil’s.

Wilbur feels himself be harshly pulled back and spun around to land a blow on the pigman hybrid. He can feel himself being restrained by the larger man, mind slowly coming out of a rage filled haze. Wilbur can hear his hoarse voice screaming, as he struggled to escape from the hold the larger man pinned him in.

_ “I loved him more than you ever did!” _

Tears are shed from his eyes once more at the utter truth and fact of what he shrieked to the heaven.

“You didn’t deserve him! You never did!” Wilbur cried at the injustice of it all, head turning to the man who was once labelled as Death’s angel, struggles not once ceasing: “You deserve every piece of hell that you ever went through on that hardcore world and more!”

Phil looked more hurt by that, than any of the blows that Wilbur had thrown at him and more. 

“You stood aside as he suffered, you fuckers! You gave him the bare minimum and expected everything back?!” 

Techno’s face was painted with guilt and slightly disheartened, arms no longer restraining the broken man. Not that Wilbur cared, it was his time to give them a lesson. One that he’ll make sure will and can be heard and heeded, if not? He’ll make what they did to L’manberg look like a kiddie’s pool. 

“You deserve hell! He didn’t! He didn’t deserve that, so why the hell was that what he was given?!”

Wilbur sunk to his knees, hands painted red, clasping together in a mock prayer as the tears dripped down his blood splattered cheeks. The two men could only look at him, neither making a movement closer to him.

“That wasn’t a lesson! I was taught lessons! And  _ that _ ?!” Wilbur let out a laugh that sounded more of a sob than anything else. 

**_“He did not deserve that! He did not need to be taught that! He did not need that! He did not need you! Because you were never there!”_ **

All the two men could do was stare helplessly at the final nail in the coffin of a broken family. Nothing would ever be able to fix what has been shattered, no matter how much they try otherwise. The avian and pigman hybrid could only leave to lick their wounds, fully believing that the once ignorant ghost will come back to that fake homey cabin with them. He didn’t. 

Wilbur never followed them back to the cabin nor did he come back to them days later. 

In fact, for a man who calls himself  _ ‘father _ ,’ it’s quite the irony that the man didn’t keep a close eye on Wilbur. But, that worked quite well in Wilbur’s case anyway. The brunette had taken the time to see a little pathetic man, while he had the time. Such a pathetic man who dared to believe he were a god. And if he chose to give a little justice himself?

Well, it just so happened that the cameras were down. Sam can testify to that afterall, there would’ve been no way that the Warden could’ve sabotaged it. But, it wasn’t the Warden helping Wilbur cover up bloodied tracks, was it? No. The one who allowed Wilbur to take revenge, not only for Tommy and the other children who never deserved the pain they were given, was: a father. A father, who swore to protect Tommy and ended up having his son ripped away from him due to his own mistake. Sam allowed himself to be dragged off that day by Tubbo and Ranboo, willingly ignoring the fact that he left an enraged older brother with the bastard who killed a brother and son. 

It was poetic in a way. Wilbur allowed himself to beat the bastard black and blue, in every single place where the man had previously hurt his brother. Every scar, bruise, scratch, burn was soon beaten into Dream’s skin like he had done to his brother. He didn’t stop, until he made sure that the false god had fallen dangerously in health, laughing at the choked excuses that the man tried to give. 

But, Wilbur wouldn’t kill him. No, there was no need to allow him the peaceful and security of death. Wilbur doesn’t want there to be a chance that the fucker could possibly make it to their peaceful grey valley. He’ll leave the fucker there to rot for the rest of eternity til the time comes for him to go, though he’d doubt death would come for Dream in a long time, not if Sam had anything to say about it. 

An enraged father and a vengeous mother would never allow that to happen for as long as they have the children to protect. Puffy would never allow anything to happen to Tubbo and Ranboo for as long as she sails the seas as it’s captain. The Warden will be back with a vengeance that the bastard never saw coming. 

Wilbur smiles gently at that, those two really do care about the children, about the legacy, of this hell. He thanks them for caring for Tommy even if it didn’t last for long. He knows the children of this broken nation will be in good hands. Wilbur hums a familiar anthem as he walks along the path right past a flower decorated dirt house, swinging a sword as he goes.

“ _ I heard there was special place. . .” _

* * *

  
  
A lone little tree--more of a sapling, really--lying next to an empty bench, an abandoned jukebox never to play another sound, and a sign with a name, a date, and a message that it’s recipient will never be able to read. Just as he’ll never be able to admire the flowers that were brought by a grieving father, an angry mother, and saddened friends everyday for him. Red, yellow, violet, and white shades laying at the base. There was a stain of red on the sign, as if affectionate fingers had traced out the name multiple times before falling away to leave but a smear of their path. A similar shade of red on the tips of dewy green leaves. And there rests the final resting place of two brothers; the younger buried under the soil and the elder leaning against the tree in its place, uncaring of the dirt and grass stains on him. Afterall, he was staining the ground under him as well, blood dripping into the ground and leaving it’s temporary mark on this sacred place.

Wilbur lied there, content on dying near Tommy’s resting place, sword shoved through his chest reminiscent of the ending of another time. Blood soaking into his shirt and jacket. Only the difference between this and that was the sword had been in his own hands instead of another’s. Wilbur took a glance at his hands. They were covered in blood and dirt. Strangely enough, this time didn’t hurt as much as it did before. Wilbur smiled, this time Tommy will be there to greet him in the valley. 

Faintly, he can hear a familiar voice calling his name, loud and unburdened like its owner always was. Unaware, that two different voices were calling his name from the living. Too bad, Wilbur didn’t care for it. A shame, but really, he’d preferred to see Tommy again more than anything else. 

Wilbur opens his eyes to see the familiar grey afterlife that he had gotten accustomed to. Before he could stop it, a large grin appeared on his face. Quickly he started running towards the yells of his brother and friend. Laughing as he was tackled in a hug and shouted questions in his face. He wouldn’t trade this for the world and definitely not for a chance of living again. 

This family was broken from the start, and it’ll stay that way, as Phil and Techno soon found.

Techno took one look at the sign in front of the tree his friend’s dead son lies and felt his heart stop, dread sinking into his skin and disbelief coloring his voice as he tells Phil to stop by a familiar bench. The older man turned in confusion, before grief overtook him at seeing his son so alike in that control room. Phil rushed over to Wilbur, gently taking him in his arms like before, a recreation of the past, and cried. This was supposed to be a new start for them.  _ So, why was his son dead with a hole in his chest again? _

Not once did Phil acknowledge the words on the sign nor his frozen friend staring in disbelief, as he tries to find the death message in the communicator that he had missed. Phil didn’t even notice that the youngest member of the server--a child--had died and he hadn’t even noticed Tommy’s absence. But then again; 

_ When does Phil know anything about Tommy, the child he left Wilbur to raise alone in an empty house of familial love? _

Tommy was dead. Tommy was dead and Techno never even noticed. What was he supposed to feel? Is he supposed to be feeling remorse? Why? He told Tommy what his plan was, he told Tommy that he did not want another government to exist, he shouldn’t be feeling bad. So why was he? The voices increasing in volumes in his head, pounding their messages into his skull, blurring out the sounds of the world around him. His palms are shaking and sweaty, Techno can feel air breathing in and out of his lungs and yet it still felt like it wasn’t enough for him to breathe. 

_ Blood for the Blood God! _

_ Traitor child is gone!!!! _

**_Why did he leave?_ **

_ EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE _

**_All he had wanted was a home._ **

**_This wasn’t meant to happen, why did this happen?_ **

_ LET’S GO!!!! HE’S GONE!!!!!!!! _

Techno lets out a shaky laugh, seems even chat doesn’t know how to feel about the child’s death. Half were celebrating as if it wasn’t a child that died, but a plague that had infected the server, while the other side were mourning at the lost of innocence. And wasn’t that what Tommy truly represented? Youth, an age where you make mistakes, your voice heard, and running around brash and uncaring of the world. Loud, brash, free, and open all things that Tommy represented--no, were. Not anymore, the sign in front of him being proof of that. The pigman hybrid angrily pushes some of the more, saddened voices away. He didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t want to acknowledge that all Tommy had wanted was a home, but all Techno ended up giving was a shelter and a crater in the ground instead. 

Both men too struck with disbelief and hurt that they didn’t notice the creeper hybrid visiting to pay his respects for the day. A bouquet of white lilies, red poppies, and tulips in hand, similar to the ones laying at the foot of the tree everyday. Sam had made it his goal, a way to repent for his fatal mistake, to visit Tommy’s-- _ his son’s- _ -resting place every single day, bringing little flowers and trinkets that he thinks Tommy would’ve liked with him as he goes. Sometimes the flowers were wild cornflowers, the color similar to Tommy’s eyes. But, today they were mostly of poppies, like the ones Tommy would pick for Sam Nook. Not once has Sam missed a visit, and neither has Puffy, Tubbo, and Ranboo. 

Sam sighed, staring at the corpse of Wilbur Soot, bringing a hand up to clear his throat indicating his presence. Seems he’s going to have to bury another person soon. A tinge of guilt hit him, he knew what the man had planned to do, heck! Wilbur himself had told Sam that he didn’t want to be alive again, before asking for where Tommy was buried. He sees the distraught faces of Phil and Techno, but immediately whatever guilt he held washed away as he notices that Phil only seems to be mourning Wilbur. 

“You know, it’s kinda ironic. You aren’t even acknowledging that Tommy died even though you’re right above his grave. Makes sense. Your track record with children isn’t all that great.”

Phil lifted his head, glaring at Sam through wet eyes as he holds onto Wilbur’s body. Not a single tear shed. “My son is dead! How dare you--?!” 

Sam’s eyes flashed a dangerous red, anger shining through to them blazing like a flame flickering dangerously close to an explosive. Without realizing, hissing started to fill the tense air between the men. Sam knew he should calm down, he didn’t want to cause any accidents to Tommy’s resting place. He took a few breaths to calm his nerves, the hissing slowly starting to quiet ‘til it was nothing, but a background noise. He moved forward, not sparing a glance at the man clutching Wilbur a little closer, and kneeled down to pay his respects to his son. Gently, almost tenderly placing the flowers with the rest of them that the others had brought for today. Violet alliums from Ranboo, white daisies from Tubbo, and yellow sunflowers from Puffy. Praying for just a moment, ignoring the men who watched a mourning man kneel before a resting place. 

Sam quickly stood and wiped away any dirt staining his hands on his pants, before turning to the men again. He observed them silently. He was a bit surprise to see that Technoblade actually seems to be shocked and saddened at the sight of Tommy’s sapling tree. Sam wasn’t expecting him to feel remorse after everything the two had gone through, however he was pleasantly surprised. He supposes it makes a bit of sense, Technoblade did try his best to protect his son when Tommy was with him for a time. Sam guesses that it might be easier to learn to forgive Technoblade than Philza Minecraft, afterall the man still seems more focused on an explosive sinner than a young wronged child. Sam understands that, while Tommy might not have been Phil’s official son, Tommy was still a child in the man’s custody. Though, if the creeper hybrid thinks about it, Wilbur probably raised Tommy and in addition Tubbo more than Phil ever did. This just makes his anger even harder to contain.

“How dare I?  _ How dare I?!”  _ Sam shouted, eyes misty and filling with tears of anger and sadness for the children that were never properly cared for, “All of your children are gone, Philza Minecraft! All of these children have left you!”

Shock and uncertainty--denial--filled Phil’s face, as his hold on Wilbur’s body slackens. Techno looked at Sam in shock, and just a hint of sadness, seeing the truth in the statement. 

“You only noticed one of your children leave, Phil! Only one, and it’s the one that willingly chose to leave again! Not the child you adopted who felt so overwhelmed by the weight of what was supposed to be an adult’s responsibilities, that he had to leave and practically make weapons to feel safe again!” 

The Greek myth of Atlas, the man who held up the sky, whispered torturously into Techno’s mind. Only instead of a man, it was a boy. A boy who should’ve never been president, but accepted the role simply due to peer pressure. 

“Not the grandchild, who for some godforsaken reason was left in your custody--that you practically threw away--who ran to someone who actually cared for him! Thank god for Eret! No! You know what really pisses me off, Philza Minecraft?!”

The myth of Perseus, the boy who was thrown away into the ocean in a crate by his grandfather and slayed Medusa, whispered into Techno’s ears. Suddenly it seemed as though, Phil had unintentionally taken on the role of King Acrisius of Argos. Techno snuck a look at Phil, who’s face seems to be clouded in anger and denial. Neither of them said anything, so Techno took a deep breath before speaking for once.

“What, Sam?”

Sam took a moment to regain at least a shred of calm, before answering.

“The fact that you didn’t give a  **_damn_ ** about the boy that had tried his all and still ended up having the world beat him down. The fact that you had not once cared about the child that was ripped from the world too soon, beaten into submission.” 

Techno didn’t bother with a response. He knew that it was true and the voices were spurring the man in front of him on, while some yelled otherwise, but he could tell Sam was in the right. Techno didn’t bother to defend himself or Phil. Some part of him, even if he denies it, admits that neither of them deserved to be defended. Nothing they could say would be able to bring back that lost innocence. 

“Tommy wasn’t even my son! Yes, he was a kid, but I was never his dad, just a caretaker really! But I was Wil’s and I admit that I should’ve been better, but I tried my hardest!” Phil knew that wasn’t true and neither men believed it to be. Wilbur’s body simply laying on the ground, no longer being held with Phil’s arms feeling like lead. 

And that was all it took to reach Sam’s breaking point. His hissing starting up again, louder than before, and sounding even more threatening. His anger finally breaching over the threshold of what he could push down. Phil would have never been a good caretaker or parent to any of those children, this was proof. Maybe a different point of time, he could’ve been, but what Sam can see right now? No, absolutely not. Parent or caretaker, you have an obligation to care and be there for your children, both physically and emotionally. Phil did neither of those things.

The smell of gunpowder fills the air, hissing loud enough to cover any of nature’s sounds, and tears slowly spilling down the creeper hybrid’s face. Tears streamed past his cheeks and underneath and on his mask. How Sam wishes things could’ve been different, happier, better. 

“A caretaker? A caretaker?! That is a child! A dead traumatized child that will never live to adulthood now! Father?! You left Wilbur, your ‘son’, to raise both Tommy and Tubbo by himself! You don’t get to be called father or even barely a caretaker! You don’t deserve to have anything remotely familial with any of them! You weren’t there for any of them! Not for their falls! Not for their rise! Not even for their deaths! And certainly not now!”

With every sentence, Sam stepped closer to Phil, who was still kneeling next to the body of Tommy’s brother, not once making a move to get up. With each step and scream that came from his mouth, anger surged forth mixing in with his blind grief. Not once did he care for the pained look on Phil’s face, not even as he finally shed a few measly tears for the children he’s forgotten. 

**_“I was more of a father to those children than you ever were or could ever hope to be to any child!”_ **

Sam’s practically on the edge of hyperventilating, his chest tightening as his breaths started to quicken with the air not quite filling his lungs. Tears were practically pouring down his face at this point, his eyes were probably bloodshot now. Tommy’s death might’ve been some time before, but no parent will ever be able to accept their child’s death so easily. He takes a deep breath. 1. 2. 3. 4. . .

“I have to go,” Sam shakingly whispers, “I have to make sure the others are okay. Losing a friend, a family member, a brother is never easy. I need to make sure the kids are okay.” 

Sam made a move to step back, but quickly stopped himself, remembering that there’s now a new person to bury. Turning back to face the body, he kneeled down--not listening to Phil’s protests and accusations or Techno’s movement to stop Phil--and scooped Wilbur up into his arms. Standing up and turning to walk away, Wilbur’s body in his arms, he leaves one last message to the two men who seemed to be silently arguing with one another.

“Leave. Don’t ever dare set foot anywhere near my son’s resting place ever again. He doesn’t need you here.”

Sam remembers when Tommy used to tell him stories about his brother’s guitar playing and music, how he’d tell him stories every night about different wondrous things, and how he always told him that he was proud of him. He remembers the way Tommy’s face lit up in a smile when talking, his hands moving rapidly and motioning as if the story was taking place right in front of him. He remembers the sad questions of whether or not Wilbur would still be proud. Sam remembers his answer and he was correct. Wilbur would always be proud of Tommy, no matter what he does. And Sam is going to make damn sure that Wilbur’s body rests with his little brother’s underneath that little, strong tree. Heavens forbid if Phil and Technoblade sets a foot near that sacred place, Sam would remove them at all costs to ensure both Tommy’s, and now, Wilbur’s rest.

Besides, those two don’t deserve forgiveness just yet. Maybe one day, when all has passed by and the only thing left to do is forgive and have peace. But right now, Sam’s in the first bare stages of grief and it’ll take a long time for him, or anybody else for that matter, to forgive the ones who indirectly or directly caused the children pain. 

For now, let the dead rest peacefully with no worries. Sam hopes that Tommy and Wilbur are together now, the two brothers deserve it. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I couldn’t resist that slight reference to Atlas and Perseus. I wanted to add Mexican Dream, but I honest to god had no clue how. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think with a comment!


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